


Tidings of Comfort and Joy

by jagnikjen



Series: The Chronicles of Blake Moran [7]
Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Blake has a hot hockey boyfriend, Gen, Hockey, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 03:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jagnikjen/pseuds/jagnikjen
Summary: Blake's big plans for the weekend are derailed when Oliver comes home hurt.





	Tidings of Comfort and Joy

Blake lets himself into Oliver’s brownstone and immediately feels at home, as he always does. A faint trace of Oliver’s cologne, along with the scents of laundry soap and wood polish have fomented together to create a smell that’s warm and welcoming. Oliver’s home reflects him…big and comforting. It’s the first time Blake’s been here without Oliver. The air is a little too cool as the thermostat has been set low while Oliver has been away on his latest road trip, so Blake ticks it up a couple of degrees to something slightly more toasty.

Large over-stuffed pieces of furniture fill the rooms because Oliver had pointed out that most of his guests were hockey players. Home-made afghans hang across sofas and chairs. Pictures of Oliver’s family are scattered around the tables and shelves. It’s cheerful and homey in the best sort of way and takes Blake back to his childhood and visits to his grandmothers’ homes.

Eight months into their relationship, Oliver and Blake exchanged keys, and three weeks later, here Blake is, taking a long weekend to spend with Oliver before Oliver’s hockey schedule keeps him out of town more often than not over the next month on extended road trips.

Chili’s been simmering on the stove for an hour. Candles have scented the air with a manly combination of mistletoe and pine, and their dancing flames have added a certain romantic ambiance to the house. Blake’s pleased, and he hopes Oliver will be as well.

The slam of car doors sends Blake to the front door. He yanks it open and freezes on the stoop. Oliver is being eased from a car by what must be a teammate, if his height and width are anything to go by. Oliver turns and looks up, a pained smile easing across his face. His mouth moves and Blake thinks Oliver’s said his name, but Oliver’s obviously hurt, and the rushing in Blake’s ears keeps him from hearing anything. _Oliver’s hurt._

The teammate looks up at Blake and his eyebrows go up.

Blake’s heart sinks to the threshold. Of all the days for Blake to surprise Oliver. Shit, shit, shit. Maybe Blake can claim to be a cousin or a friend from somewhere, but the candles and the meal and— _shit_. There’s no way to spin Blake’s appearance as anything other than romantic, and he should have texted Oliver first because then he would have known he was injured and would have come over after Oliver was dropped off.

Oliver and his teammate are having a conversation, but Blake’s heart is thudding so hard it’s drumming in his ears. What’s his cover, what’s his cover? Um… Okay. He’s a housekeeper. Yeah. Sent to prep the house for Oliver’s return.

Oliver heads up the stairs step-by-step, one arm braced across his mid-section, the other hand holding onto the concrete railing. His teammate stays behind him, maybe to break his fall if he loses his balance and topples backwards down the stairs, and please, God, don’t let that happen.

The sound of Oliver’s huffing and puffing finally penetrates Blake’s panic, and he bounds down half the stairs to walk beside him, hand hovering over Oliver’s back. Because, screw it. “Oh my God, Oliver, what happened?”

He can’t bring himself to care what the teammate thinks at this point. Oliver’s hurt and Blake’ll just be an old family friend or something. Not sure how to explain the candles, but whatever. A gay family friend. Oliver doesn’t have to be implicated. 

“He was checked into boards, hard,” says the teammate as they reach the porch and step into the small front hall. “The other guy put a shoulder to Ollie’s ribs. Very purple and red.”

“Magic,” Oliver wheezes, “this is Blake, the guy I was telling you about.”

Blake’s heart stops. Oliver said something to someone? To a teammate. That’s…good, right?

“Good to meet you, Blake,” says Magic. “Nick Santini, actually.”

“Mr. Santi—”

“Nick. I’m Nick. Call me Nick.”

“Nick,” says Blake, nodding. Nick’s got the dark hair and stubble of someone with an Italian heritage. His accent screams New York. “Thank you for bringing him home.” And Blake feels the embarrassment climbing his face. Because this isn’t their home, his and Oliver’s, and Blake should just shut his mouth. But he’s glad there was someone to see him home, and yeah.

“Sure, no problem. Happy to help. Glad you’re here to make sure he rests. Can you stay or come back to check on him?”

They ease Oliver into the large armchair, and Nick drops a gear bag and a large duffle to the floor. He gazes around, sniffs appreciatively, and the corner of his mouth lifts up.

“Um, of course. That’s not a problem.” Blake stands there, fingers twisting together. He wants to kiss Oliver hello, touch him all over and check his wounds, but…

“Blake?”

“Hmm?” He turns to Oliver who blows him a kiss and says, “Magic knows about us. He’s my line mate and my roommate on road trips. We confide.”

“Oh, well,” says Blake, his shoulders slumping. He smiles at Nick. “Then double thanks for bringing him home and for keeping his secret.”

“Yeah, sure.” He turns to Oliver with a wink. “He’s cute.”

Blake’s face is probably turning fifty shades of red right now.

“Take care, man. I’ll pick you up Tuesday, ‘kay?”

“Thanks, Magic,” huffs Oliver. “Enjoy your weekend.”

“Yeah, man, you too. But I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” With another wink and a wave to Blake, he’s gone, the door closing with a soft thud.

Oliver closes his eyes and drops his head to the back of the chair. “I’m sorry I ruined your plans.”

“Nonsense,” Blake says softly, finally, finally willing to touch Oliver. Accepting a gay relationship and seeing it up close and personal are two different things. He didn’t want to tempt fate by being too touchy-feely in front of Nick. But now he can be as tactile as Oliver can stand. He drops to his knees between Oliver’s spread feet and leans forward to kiss him gently. “The most important part of my plan was just to spend time with you, so it’s fine. Unless you sussed out my plans and got checked on purpose?”

Oliver snorts, then groans in quick succession, bringing his arm across his stomach again. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Blake’s stomach clenches, and he settles his butt to his heels giving Oliver some space. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Are you hungry?”

“Not really, but I have to take meds soon, so I’d better eat a little.”

Blake helps Oliver to his feet and out of his coat, and they go into the breakfast nook. The table’s been set and there are more candles.

Oliver turns to him, expression contrite beneath the grimace of pain. “Aw, Blake, this is nice. I wish we could take this where you intended it to go.” Regret colors Oliver’s face and he pulls Blake close, offering a sweet kiss, followed a huff of pained breath. “I really, really missed you.”

Blake embraces him gently. “Hush. It doesn’t matter, all right? All that matters is that you’re okay. You’re okay, right?”

“I’m okay. I promise.”

~*~*~

Once dinner is eaten and cleaned up after, Blake follows Oliver upstairs to his bedroom. It takes some time as Oliver has to stop to catch his breath and hug his ribs every three or four steps. There are twenty-two steps.

Oliver had had a bit of remodeling done at some point, having two smaller bedrooms turned into one large master bedroom. It’s long and open, painted a pale green with natural oak-stained trim. His king-sized bed is large enough for two hockey players. When Blake had said as much the first time they’d had sex here, Oliver assured him that there’d never been more than one hockey player in his bed at any given time. Blake had laughed, but had still felt glad whether he had the right to or not.

“Shower, then bed. Come on,” says Oliver. The painkiller has finally kicked in, making him sound relaxed and tipsy.

Between the walk up the stairs and the shower, Oliver’s exhausted by the time he crawls into bed and lays flat on his back. Blake tucks the covers up to his chest and looks at him and tries to hide his disappointment. The couch it is. Oliver’s just too hurt for Blake to want to take the chance of elbowing him or something.

“Uh uh.” Oliver slides his right arm so that it’s stretched across the bed. “Right side. Come on. I’m not missing out on cuddles. It’s just a lot of bruising.”

“I don’t want to add to your obvious pain.”

“Painkillers. I’m feeling floaty right now. Please? I missed you, kultsi.”

Blake caves. It’s the ‘kultsi’ that gets him, because none of his previous boyfriends—all three of them—ever showed their feelings with an endearment or maybe they just weren’t mature enough or confident enough to feel comfortable doing so. Blake doesn’t know. But this man is sweet and tender when he’s with Blake. And no one would ever doubt his masculinity. 

Also Oliver’s a grown man, and who’s Blake to know what he can and can’t handle pain-wise? He strips down to his briefs and slides in next to Oliver, resting his head on Oliver’s shoulder, but rests his hand in the space he left between them. “If I’m too heavy let me know.”

“Closer. You can rest your arm across my stomach. I promise, it’s fine.”

Blake scoots closer as gently as possible and does as Oliver instructs.

Oliver’s arm folds around Blake’s shoulders and his fingers find Blake’s hair. “That’s more like it,” he says on a sigh.

Blake just lies there, soaking in Oliver’s heat and presence, enjoying being pressed skin to skin. The scent of soap and shampoo and laundry detergent surrounds them, and this is pretty much everything Blake has ever wanted in a relationship. He’s not sure why Oliver finds him boyfriend material, but he does and Blake thanks his lucky stars every time they go their own ways.

The downside is, of course, they can’t go out in public. But it’s a small price to pay, and it’s not like Oliver has a lot of free time during the season anyway. He was flabbergasted when Oliver had shown him the season schedule. Blake tries not to be needy, and he thinks, for the most part, he succeeds. They’d had a conversation at the beginning of the season about Blake letting Oliver know if he was feeling neglected. He’d taken him up on it once, calling Oliver in California, thankful for the time difference.

It wasn’t that Blake had been feeling neglected, but he’d had a horrible week, bad thing after bad thing happening, and he’d just wanted to talk to his boyfriend. He’d texted first and then they’d Skyped as Oliver had promised they could. It had helped tremendously.

Oliver’s hand slides down Blake’s side, the callouses on Oliver’s fingers raising gooseflesh along the way, and squeezes Blake’s butt. “I love your ass, Blake,” he murmurs. “I love everything about you.”

“You’re hurt…no sex.” Blake can’t help being a bit disappointed about that either, but Oliver’s health is more important than Blake’s libido. After spending half of July and most of August in bed, going days and sometimes weeks between having sex has been an adjustment. But Oliver was a hockey player before he was Blake’s boyfriend, and, well, this is his life, his career. If Blake wants Oliver, and he definitely does, he has to accept that this is how it works.

“It’s been three weeks,” Oliver says, voice whiny, leaning for a kiss, then hissing slightly. One of the longer periods of abstinence between them. Oliver had been on a road trip, then Blake had had to go on a business trip and when he'd gotten back, Oliver had been gone again. Blake had so been looking forward to this weekend.

Blake shifts forward, closing the space between their lips. The kiss is soft and thorough until it’s not. His breathing shallows and his pulse picks up. Oliver deepens the kiss, and Blake can’t help but respond. Whenever he’s around Oliver, Blake feels like he’s twenty again and can’t slake his lust. When Oliver grunts, Blake ends the kiss. “Oh, God, sorry. We shouldn’t…”

“Don’t be sorry. I like you all hot and bothered. You planned a lovely evening, and here I am all banged up. I saved myself for you while I was gone…”

Blood rushes Blake’s face and “Oh my God…why do you say things like that?”

“Because it’s fun and it’s the truth and I like to see you blush.”

The fingers in his hair give Blake goosebumps, but he harrumphs. “Let’s just lay here and enjoy being together. We don’t get to do that very often either. We don’t always have to end up having sex.”

“No, but…I like sex with you…” Oliver says, his voice soft. His fingers slow, his arm gets heavy against Blake’s back.

“I like sex with you too, Oliver,” Blake whispers. The tension leaves Oliver’s lean battered body in stages. His breathing deepens and then he’s asleep. Blake just studies him in the light from the small table lamp across the room. Dark lashes fan his cheeks. His lips are plump and pink in the circle of his facial hair. His face is soft with the repose of sleep.

And Blake’s heart fills with love and so much joy that he gets to have this.


End file.
